The little footpage was engaged outside the
dining-room door —I will not say in selecting
for his own refection tit-bits from the dishes
that came out. The genteel housemaid who
should have worn plush was waiting upon us.
Jane Buck was in the front-kitchen, and was
thinking that it was pretty nearly time to
see about taking the pudding out of the
copper.

It was now just dusk. We had dined at
three o'clock, a genteel, but not fashionable,
hour. The cook had just turned to go into
the kitchen where the copper was, when she
saw, looming through the area window, and
darkening it, the dresser, the pie-board, her
own work-box, and a human face!

It was a large, dark, and very ugly face,
closely shaven, but surrounded by long, lank,
black greasy hair; and round the occiput
was a mark, as if the face's proprietor had
been in the habit of tying a string round his
head. It might have been the face of a bravo,
of a murderer, of Medusa, of the awful
Bull-and-Mouth itself; but it was worse than all
these to the unfortunate Jane Buck.

The face, accompanied by the body that
owned it, speedily entered the kitchen itself.
A wide-awake hat of ashen hue surmounted
it. The face was some six feet from the
ground; below that was a long, voluminous
Spanish cloak: and that was all, save Jane
Buck and the twilight.

The cook did not scream: she did not faint,
but she turned deadly pale, trembled in
every limb, and faltered—

"My 'usband!"

It was indeed her husband; her wicked,
vagabondising, brandy-drinking, short-pipe-
smoking, wages-squandering, kitchen-stuff-
devouring, unfaithful husband. Jane Buck's
husband was the famous, but abandoned,
artist, Signor Buck. He was by vocation a
juggler, but was sometimes an acrobat, and
had been seen as an Ethiopian serenader. He
had deserted his wife for years, paying her
only periodical visits to extort money from
her. He had even taken from her the only
pledge of their union — a son, aged five — and
the unhappy mother had once caught a
glimpse of her wicked partner, in tights and
spangles, standing on the head of another
reprobate similarly attired, and holding forth
their innocent offspring — the babe was also
in tights and spangles — at arm's length, and
by one leg.

"Thomas Buck," continued the cook,
quaveringly, " what 'ave brought you here?
What do you want?"

"Blunt!" answered the head and cloak
fiercely. At the same time a gaunt, bony,
knotted hand extended itself from the ample
folds of the Spanish garment. It struck the
pie-board violently. Then seeming to waver,
it shook for a moment in thin air, then,
almost unconsciously, closed upon the leg of
a turkey in a half-emptied dish. The twilight
obscured the cannibalic action; but, from a
craunching sound and the previous
antecedents of Signor Buck, there is every reason
to believe that he was eating the drumstick
of the turkey.

"Tummas Buck," replied Jane his wife,
"you 'ave 'ad my wages, my savins — you
have drunk my perkisits — you 'ave taken
away my dear, dear little boy — what 'ave you
done with him, Tummas?"

"He's a fizzer now," answered Signor
Buck, gloomily.

"A fizzer?" ejaculated the cook.

"'Prenticed to a swallower," the cruel
father answered. " He's a doing carvin'-knives
now, but he'll square red-hot pokers
in doo time. But where is the blunt? I must
'ave it—I aint got a mag — I'm dry — give me
blunt, plate, or linning, or grease."

"I won't," said his wife, indignantly.

"You won't!" exclaimed the signor,
violently; "you won't! then to Spain — to
Spain!"

This was too much for Jane Buck: brute
as he was, she loved her husband. She flung
her arms round him, promised him money,
and entreated him not to go to Spain.

"To Spain! to Spain! " the signor
continued to ejaculate. " To Spain! Gods! had
I but a marlinspike!"

What the dissolute juggler would have
done with a marlinspike, or whether he
wanted one, or anything indeed, save money
from his foolish wife, is problematical; but
the threat, coupled with the expression of his
wish for the nautical instrument in question,
moved his wife to empty out her pockets and
her workbox before him, and bid him help
himself.

Signor Buck was just in the act of
transferring the contents of these objects within
the penetralia of his Spanish cloak when the
parlour bell rang violently, and the cook ran
out of the kitchen, bidding her husband
await her return.

Signor Buck was never seen again. Four
silver spoons and a fish-slice, the property of
Charkison Rabbets, Esq., were never seen
again; and, worse than all, the Christmas
plum-pudding—the pride, the hope, the joy
of the family — disappeared with the spoons
and the fish-slice, and was never seen again,
and we went puddingless that Christmas-day.

Heaven send us all many more Christmases,
and no worse disasters than these to chequer
them!

Now ready, price 5s. 6d., neatly bound in cloth,
THE ELEVENTH VOLUME
OF
HOUSEHOLD WORDS.
Containing the Numbers issued between the 3rd of
February and the 28th July, 1855. The Library Edition
of the previous Ten Volumes (bound in five) of HOUSEHOLD
WORDS, with an Index to the whole, price
£2 10s., may always be had of the booksellers.